Couple of Master Assassins
by Lizzy Borg
Summary: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov- Clintasha, Blackhawk A serios of Clintasha drabbles from Tumblr. Chapters will be rated up to T.
1. Setting: SHIELD plane, August 2008

Clint was suiting up in the plane above Egypt, organizing his quiver and bow. As much as he would have liked to think that this was just a regular mission, he and everybody else on the plane knew it wasn't.

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow, sat across from him, staring at a fixed point on the horizon. She made no clear moves to comfort herself or be consoled about the situation they were about to be dropped in. She was only a few years younger than Clint, but her getup (to make her look youthful) and his knowledge of what she was capable of made him slightly uneasy.

The SHIELD agent had spent months tracking her, given only 'Black Widow', a history (more like a list of suspected crimes), and a face that might or might not have been hers. He had gone through the international underworld, tracing the whispers and legends to a twenty year old woman- emotionally, she was a girl- named Natasha Romanoff.

Staring down at her unconscious body, he had a decision to make. She had committed so many crimes, and probably many they didn't even know about. Many people would have shot her right there and walked away, allowing the authorities to take care of it.

But Clint didn't. He waited, and when she woke up he offered her a choice; come back with him to America in chains, or consider joining SHIELD. The girl had been fierce, insisting that she didn't need his help. Many agents would have shot her then, and told themselves that they were compassionate for even trying, but Clint had shrugged and told her she had to make a decision. She finally did (obviously) and here they were.

The therapists had insisted that she was fine now, cleared for duty and all that. And because Natasha would actually speak with Clint (with the other agents she would just shrug or nod) Fury had decided to put the two of them together for this, with Clint there in case the Widow did anything. He trusted his judgment, blah blah, but Clint knew that it was truthfully punishment for not following orders.

Coulson, his handler, called over to him. "You ready to go?" Clint nodded, securing everything on his person. They were going to be collecting information about corruption in the Egyptian government while at an art exhibition at the home of some influential general. "You'll cover Romanoff as she goes in, interrogates the general, and makes her exit. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Clint said. He looked across at Natasha. "Do you have a signal?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Do we need one? I'm not an amateur, Hawk."

Clint raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Neither am I, and I've always had a signal."

She shrugged one shoulder sullenly. "Fine. If I mention that somebody smells, that's a problem."

Clint nodded thoughtfully. "Subtle. I like it."

Natasha smiled, just at the very corner of her mouth. "I'm a professional, Hawk. I don't throw unnecessary insults at people, unless I'm trying to prove a point."

Clint smiled, admiring it. Many of the agents he had worked with often resorted to petty mockery, and they had been twice Natasha's age. Maybe she was more mature than he had previously assumed.


	2. Setting: Avengers Tower, April 2014

Natasha sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring at the stick that had just changed her life. Positive.

She was pregnant.

Personally, she was thrilled about it. She had always wanted another chance… She had been a mother before. Once. For three months, until the Soviets had taken it away. It was a daughter. Tatiana Alexa Romanoff. And then there had been a mission that they needed her, specifically, to take care of. And when Natasha came back, her Tatiana was gone.

She and Clint had never talked about children; they never thought they needed to. He knew about Tatiana, of course, but he probably assumed that she wasn't willing to have another baby, or was just not good with kids, or just didn't feel like having kids with her.

Natasha flopped back on the bed, burying her face in her pillow. That was probably it. She would be a horrible mother. She never even got a chance, and she was too old, and never home, and… God, what a screwed up world for them to bring a kid into. Clint would be upset with her, and with himself, and with everybody. He wouldn't want this kid. She couldn't tell him how much she desperately wanted this kid.

Natasha could hear the door behind her swish softly and click open, and heard soft footsteps that she recognized as Clint's. They moved towards the bed and she felt him sit on the bed. "Tash?" he heard her ask, "You okay? Did your period come?" (That was why she loved him; he was never squeamish about saying stuff like that.)

Natasha shook her head, and unable to look him in the face when he found out (yet unwilling to hide it from him) she thrusted the home pregnancy test at him. She felt him take it from her hand, and buried her face in the pillow, dreading it. The moments that it took for him to register what it meant were hell to her. She needed to know what he thought, but she couldn't look up and see the look of disappointment, or disgust, on his face.

When Clint finally spoke again, his voice was almost monotone. "Nat… Are you sure?"

She nodded, face still pressed into the pillow. "'m so sorry, Clint, I thought I was just late…"

"Tash, it's fine, I understand, I don't blame you." The lack of anger, or really any negative emotion in his voice made her look up. He was smiling, very gently at her, staring at the stick in his hands.

"You aren't mad?"

"Why in hell would I be mad?" Clint asked. "I'm gonna be a daddy."

Natasha nodded and smiled, a little watery, the fact that he isn't mad, he isn't mad still kinda sinking in. "Yes, you are."

Clint leaned down and kissed her affectionately. "We're gonna be a family."

"That we are," she said, touching his face.


	3. Setting: Hospital, December 2014

The two master assassins had never been as vulnerable as they lay on the hospital bed together; and frankly, they couldn't have cared less. Natasha's eyes were closed, her sweaty, matted hair on the pillow under her head. There were dark bags under her eyes and she hadn't taken a shower in two days but she had never been more beautiful to the man lying next to her, gently combing her hair. After nine months of waiting, Natasha had finally had Clint's baby, and there was no way he could have been more proud.

Clint kissed her forehead when her hair was untangled at last, carding his fingers through it instead. She had been more cuddly than usual while pregnant, and he had discovered that she liked it when he played with her hair. It calmed her down when she was frustrated, or crying, or basically caught up in the hormonal rages that accompanied pregnancy.

Natasha peeked open a blue/green/gray eye (Clint could never tell what color they were). "Hey, hot shot," she said quietly, with a trace of her usual teasing tone, "what's cracking?"

Clint wanted desperately to say something not gooey. He wanted to not be totally corny and cliché and ruin the high standards in the coolness department that he had set for himself, but he couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face. "We're parents," he said, with that hint of a laugh in his voice that someone only gets when they're truly overjoyed. "We have a baby boy."

She nodded, repressing the urge to call him Captain Obvious, or a moron, because they were parents now. They had to be role models. They were parents now. "What's he like?"

"Beautiful." Not that he could have been any different. Look at his mother.

"Not that he could have been any different. I mean, look at who his dad was." Natasha grinned, poking his thigh.

Clint rolled his eyes affectionately. "And his mother."

"You're right, I'm pretty sure he got his good looks from me."

"And his stubbornness?"

"And his ability to hold his alcohol," she insisted.

"Oh, I can drink you under the table and you know it," he said, chuckling.

Natasha grinned. "I'm not pregnant anymore, Barton. You can try to make good on that promise."

"That's right, you can try." Their old flirtatious banter was back, and Clint couldn't decide whether or not it was better than the soft, loving voices they had been using merely thirty seconds earlier.

"And maybe now I can have my body back, too," Natasha groused. Clint just shrugged; he always thought she was beautiful, pregnant or not.

The door swooshed open, and the doctor came in, wheeling their baby boy in. "I have a delivery," she said, smiling.

The couple sat up quickly, Clint taking Natasha's hand instantly to stop her from running over and scooping him up. Doctor Anne pushed the baby to right next to their bed, and started telling them what they had to do, but Clint was just staring at his baby. His son. He had a scrunched up nose, and his eyes were shut, his fists clenching the blanket he was wrapped up in.

Clint wrapped an arm around Natasha's waist, sighing happily. "He's perfect," he whispered into her neck.

Natasha just swatted at Clint's hand, listening attentively to what their doctor was telling them. Clint smiled, laying his head on her shoulder and completely relaxing for the first time in…who knew when?

The couple of master assassins on that bed may have been protected by the best security network in the world, but they had never been so vulnerable… or so happy about it, either.


	4. AU Setting: Asgard High, September 2013

**A/N: My high school AUs will also be posted on these as well. Just a heads up. **

"Natasha Romanov?" a voice called. Natasha looked up from her Emily Dickinson's poetry to see the drama teacher waving her up onto the stage. It was Monday afternoon, and she had made it to callbacks for this semester's play; Twelfth Night. She set her book aside, smoothing her hands over her uniform skirt and climbed up onto the stage, taking the scene that Mrs. Potts offered her.

"You'll be reading the part of Viola," she said, pointing to the highlighted lines. Natasha smiled and nodded politely, but she was internally cheering. Viola was the main character, and the fact that she was being told to read for her was a good sign. Now if she would only get a good partner...

The teacher looked around the auditorium for her partner. "Clint? Clint Barton?"

Natasha's heart fell through her stomach at the name of the jock. Clint Barton. She didn't know him personally, but she knew that he was a star of the football team, known for his wicked aim with any possible projectile. He could be perfectly nice, but most likely he was doing this for the drama credit. If he was (by some mistake) cast in a lead role, this play would plummet.

Clint climbed onto the stage, smirking in the direction of his friends who were cheering him on. He was decent looking, spiky dirty blond hair and chiseled features. And whoa, those arm muscles were spectacular in his purple polo. He grinned at Natasha, waving slightly before taking the script from Mrs. Potts.

"You'll be reading for the Duke," she said. Natasha sighed, tucking her red curly bangs behind her ear. Of course. Of course it would be the main romantic pairing. She didn't even know the guy and she had to pretend to be in love with him. He was not her type. He was a jock. He was probably in low level classes, and picked on people like her. You know, intelligent, sensitive people. You might call Natasha a hipster. She just thought of herself as, you know, decent.

Clint turned to her, smiling nervously, and began speaking.

**Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,**

**In the sweet pangs of it remember me;**

**For such as I am all true lovers are,**

**Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,**

**Save in the constant image of the creature**

**That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?**

Natasha's eyes widened. Clint was actually pretty talented. He spoke the words with an low intensity she had never seen in any of her acting partners before, and what seemed to be real pain over wasted love. And yikes, his eyes... He needed to stop. She couldn't actually...crap. Nope. No thinking about it.

There was a silence before she realized that it was her turn to speak.

_It gives a very echo to the seat_

_Where Love is throned._

Clint responded smoothly, scarcely reading from the script.

**Thou dost speak masterly:**

**My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye**

**Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves:**

**Hath it not, boy?**

His lines gave her a chance to remind herself that this was actually a tryout, not time for her to dedicate to her thing for smart guys who knew Shakespeare. Aw, hell...

_A little, by your favour._

**What kind of woman is't?**

_Of your complexion_, Natasha responded, using the right touch of irony.

And thus they continued, back and forth. Neither used the script very much, and both were clearly very familiar with the play.

Finally they stopped, staring at each other. There were no more lines. Nothing else to say.

Externally, Natasha was quiet but inside she was reeling. During that short scene, her entire world's view had been completely changed. Clint Barton wasn't a jerk. He was wonderful, intelligent, sensitive attractive-

"We rocked that!" Clint hissed as they left the stage together. Okay, maybe a little bit of a jerk.

Natasha shrugged. "I've heard better." Lies.

Clint scoffed. "Sure you have. I'm amazing."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Clearly not noticing the lame comeback, Clint grinned and stuck out his hand. "Clint Barton."

"I'm aware," Natasha said. Then, internally berating herself for being bitchy, she took his hand, shaking it the way her mother had taught her to. His hand was warm, and callused. Nice. "Natasha Romanov."

He nodded, clearly also aware but too nice to say so. "Russian?"

Natasha smirked. "Apparently my grandmother was a Soviet trained spy who got stuck in America. She was famous for killing all the men she kissed."

Clint chuckled. "Charming."

She nodded, picking up her leather messenger bag and pen. She could hear Clint's friends calling to him from the back of the auditorium, probably impatient to get to practice. "So... See you around?"

Clint nodded. "I'll be looking out for you."

Natasha felt her cheeks flush. "Real- Cool." and the words started coming out of her mouth before she could stop them, tumbling over her lips like lines in a play, "or you could avoid risking stalker-dom and just call me instead."

Instead of being totally repulsed, Clint just smirked and nodded. "I could." he held out a hand.

She stared at it, brainpower lowered by the fact that she hadn't been totally rejected. "...what's that for?"

"Write your number down." he gestured at the pen in her hand. She did, scrawling her number on his hand. She had to hold his arm to keep his hand steady, and his fingertips were gently resting on her wrist. She looked up at him and he smiled, cockily. "Great." he started backing away, still facing her. "See you around, Romanov."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the cliche move. "Sure, Barton. Whatever."

She had almost made it out of the aud when he shouted again, "HEY, ROMANOV?" She turned to face him, and he was clearly grinning a stupid grin all over his face. At the door, his friends were impatiently waiting for him.

"WHAT?" She yelled back.

"**My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite**." he quoted.

Natasha's face turned bright red. She should have said something, anything, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "ROMEO WAS A TOTAL WUSS."

Clint grinned wider, if that was possible. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." he walked up to his friends, who were snickering behind their hands. "SEE YOU LATER, ROMANOV."

**Contact me if you want this continued or anything. **


End file.
